An Ugly Thing
by Clyll the Deathless
Summary: One-shot. "I have been asked...To speak to you about Harry. Harry was a beautiful child. But what he did was a tragic, and ugly thing." Trigger warning; Confronting; Death of major character; AU.


_**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me in any way whatsoever. _

* * *

"I have been asked..." And here he paused. "To speak to you about Harry." He breathed the last word, feeling the familiar, oh so familiar, pang of utter heart wrenching agony. It was an old pain and already his body knew to tense automatically, as if it could protect itself. But this pain came from the inside. His heart, his entire being, his _soul_. "Harry was a beautiful child." His lip quirked the tiniest bit as he imagined the way Harry would have blushed if he had heard the words. "But what he did was a tragic, and ugly thing."

* * *

Sirius recalled the day he came home to find Harry lying in his own waste in the bathroom. His skin was deathly pale, and for the briefest moment, his mind flashed back to the day he saw the only family he had ever known dead - James and Lily. His body was sprawled on the ground, and Sirius found his hands pressed against Harry's skin (when had he ended up there?), which was cold, freezing to the touch, and lifeless. His hands fumbled and shook, and why, why, why, oh god. His mind was blank. He couldn't think or call for help or do anything. And suddenly a Patronus was there, right in front of him, and it was a dog. Sirius realised he had called upon it, and so he called for help. He paused, and lowed the wand he hadn't realised he held aloft, his breathing harsh and scared. His lungs burned. He reached and felt no pulse. He started CPR, pushing against Harry's chest (break a rib, it doesn't matter...need to save him). His breath pushed into Harry's. He tasted the vomit that dribbled from Harry's mouth, but had no time or energy to gag, his mind was focused. Push, push, breathe...

Sirius screamed when they tore him away from the limp and lifeless body that was once Harry Potter, his beloved Godson.

At Saint Mungo's they tried to revive him, but with magic Sirius hadn't learnt, and as he sat there, head in his hands, it was his life's greatest regret. It felt like hours later when they came and got him, sympathy in their eyes. Sirius lifted his head and looked at them. They shook their heads, and asked him to follow them, to talk somewhere private. Sirius' hands trembled as they ran through his hair and scrubbed across his face, spreading snot and tears. He felt weak as a newborn kitten as he followed after them. He thought he heard the word 'shock' being muttered by one of the healers.

* * *

"Harry was beautiful," Sirius repeated his words. "He grew up in a cold unloving environment that bordered on abuse. Yet when I met him, it was as clear as day that he was strong, stubborn, loyal, kind, compassionate, and as many people know, he had a 'saving people thing'. This was a boy who, against all odds, grew up to become an amazing person, who touched so many lives, and saved just as many, including mine.

"Harry faced hardships that no child should ever have to face. He battled for his life both at his aunt and uncle's house, and here at Hogwarts. But I will not tell you that Harry is free of pain now, with his family, and finally happy, because Harry is dead; he is not someplace high above, whether you name that place or not, with his loved ones, looking down upon us. He is dead, he is not looking down upon us, and we may never see him again. Death is final.

"Suicide is an ugly act. It is ugly and selfish; you are leaving behind people who loved you, leaving them to hurt and suffer. His note read, 'live a happy life for me.' And I wonder, how can that be possible? How can I live when you are not here with me? I can tell you that I will not be happy, and nor will I even be able to live. I will get on with my life, but I will not ever truly live again."

Sirius could not see the people seated in front of him for the burning tears that clouded his vision. He needed to clear his throat, as he had one last thing to say, but he feared if he did so it would open the floodgate and he would have a breakdown right there and then. Instead he swallowed (yet the massive lump in his throat that felt as though it was burning and _choking_ him remained) and stepped down from the dais and sat back in his seat, saying what he needed to say inside his head.

_Goodbye Harry._

* * *

_**A/N:** This is my first story and it was inspired by all the people out there who have lost someone as a result of suicide. I am fortunate enough to a) have never lost someone form suicide and b) to have never had a need to go to a funeral. So forgive me my mistakes in that respect. I AM NOT dismissing the people who have mental illnesses as selfish or anything like that. I want my focus to be on the people left behind. If you or someone you know is suffering from a mental illness, go see your doctor and get a referral to see a Psychologist and Psychiatrist. If your Psych isn't helping, or you're not connecting with them, change. Talk to people, they will help. Or talk to a Hotline, or me even (I'll always be willing to help). _

_Take away message: Don't romanticise suicide._

_Sincerely, CD x_


End file.
